Who knows how long I sat there. The silence was like a vacuum, an eternity. Eventually my eyelids grew heavy. I nodded off several times, waking up whenever my chin lolled onto my chest. I was neither asleep nor awake but drifting in half-sleep, until the murmur of voices filtered through. I woke with a start and opened my eyes wide. I clenched my fists and tensed my muscles, ready to sprint upstairs. I recognised Father’s voice, talking to Hakim. It was interrupted occasionally by what sounded like a short question; then Father’s voice again, firm and insistent. Eventually, the door opened a crack, though no one came out. Instead, I thought I heard a sob.
“Promise me,” I heard Father say, followed by louder sobs. The door opened a little wider. Now I could see the two of them. They held each other in a long embrace. Then Father took Hakim’s face between his hands, and his old friend looked at him with tearful eyes.
“Promise,” whispered Father.
Hakim nodded.
They looked at each other as if it was a staring contest. Then Father turned away. Hakim, tears creeping down the creases on his cheeks, hesitated on the threshold before closing the door. I saw Father rub his eyes, straighten his shirt, and press the light switch. He must have left whatever he’d been holding in Hakim’s flat. He looked up the stairs and took the first step, but by then I was well gone.
Back in my room, I stripped off my clothes and jumped into bed all out of breath. There was no sign of Mother. I could hear Father’s heavy steps, then the sound of the front door closing. I forced myself to breathe slowly. Father took his shoes off in the hall, then opened the door of my room enough to stick his head in.
“Samir?”
“Yes?”
“You OK?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Are things OK with Hakim again?”
“Yes. All sorted. Are you still awake? Do you still want the story?”
“Of course I do.”
Father smiled.
“OK. I’ll be with you shortly.”
He came back a few minutes later wearing pyjama bottoms and a soft sweater. I moved over so he could sit on the edge of my bed. I looked at him and tried to tell from his eyes whether he’d seen me out there, whether he knew that I’d followed him. There was no indication that he had.
“Why did it take so long?” I asked. When I saw him flinch, I added, “To finish the story?”
The light from my bedside lamp was reflected in his eyes.
“Good stories take time,” he said, “I had to do a lot of thinking about Abu Youssef.”
“So did I.”
“But now the wait is over.”
“About time too.”
“Are you sure you want to hear the story?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well …” He shrugged his shoulders and held out his hands, palms up. “I mean, maybe you’d rather keep it for another day?”
“Are you mad?”
“Once I’ve told it, the balance in the story account will be back to zero.”
“I don’t care.”
“Is that how you treat your piggybank as well?”
“Piggybanks don’t tell stories. Come on—please!”
Father pulled the duvet up around my shoulders and smiled.
“One day you’ll put your own children to bed and tell them stories.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely. It’s a wonderful thing, you know. You’ll spend lots of time thinking up stories, and your children will never forget them.”
I liked that idea. Me, Samir, a discoverer of imaginary worlds, a storyteller like my father. I lay on my side and tucked my hands under my pillow. I was ready. Right now, it no longer mattered that his behaviour had been so strange. Whatever it was that had made him so cold and distant, it didn’t matter anymore. He was here now. In my room, on my bed, with me. He had brought Abu Youssef along too. That was all that mattered.
-
10
Abu Youssef’s return to Beirut was triumphant. News of his victory over the cruel Ishaq had spread like wildfire. When the assembled crowds caught sight of his ship approaching the harbour, they cheered with joy, waving bright banners and the Lebanese flag. Abu Youssef and Amir were on deck, delighted to hear the sound of cheering on the wind. The sails billowed in joyful anticipation and the coast grew closer by the minute.
“They love me!” cried the camel, baring his magnificent teeth in a shiny grin and waving one hoof at the crowd. Loud cheers erupted in response.
Abu Youssef stood silently on deck. Nothing was more beautiful than Beirut from the sea. The legendary Pigeon Rocks towering in front of the coastline, the skyscrapers glittering in the sunlight, the mountains rising up behind them, beyond the glass facades. He loved coming home, returning to his treasure.
Once they’d disembarked, Abu Youssef and Amir made their way through a forest of arms and hands. Everyone wanted to touch the heroes and clap them on the back. Amir was happy to give the odd autograph, but Abu Youssef was keen to get home without delay.
“Don’t you want to celebrate with us, Abu Youssef?” the people said. “Don’t you want to sing and dance with us all night? Don’t you want to celebrate your good fortune?”
Abu Youssef replied, “Yes, I do, but not now and not here. If you want a real party, then gather on the street below my balcony at midnight. I’ll show you the meaning of true happiness, and I’ll dance and celebrate with you till long after dawn.”
Amazed, the people wondered what this could possibly mean. Was Abu Youssef planning a party in the city? He had a small flat in Beirut, everyone knew that. And everyone knew his balcony because it was the only one on the street—and also because, in the right light, rumour had it, the balcony shone like it was made of pure gold. But Abu Youssef spent very little time in this flat. If he was going to throw a party, he preferred to do it in his village in the mountains, where he’d invite all his friends to join him.
The news travelled through the streets and alleys like a leaf on the wind. Children shouted it to their parents; the parents told their friends; and soon the whole city was bursting with excitement. “This evening,” the people cried, “Abu Youssef is going to show us the meaning of true happiness.”
Abu Youssef rode into the mountains on Amir’s back. He had reached a decision. At first he’d thought it would niggle at him for a long time, but now that he knew what he had to do, he felt very calm. Back home in his village, he fed and watered his faithful friend Amir,